The Speed Queen (21 page)

We were on 44 in the middle of nowhere. We'd come down out of the mountains into the high desert. There were red buttes everywhere, and adobe ruins, and sage. I was hoping to see a real roadrunner, kind of a good omen. We were in the Apache reservation because we passed a fry bread and jewelry stand set up by the tribe with a big sign. Lamont wanted to stop for some cheap cigarettes but I said forget it. I don't know where I thought I was going, I just had to move.

I'd never seen a real reservation, and all the trailers and junked cars surprised me. I thought they got money from the government.

Out in the desert there were no fences, only a string of low telephone poles beside a railroad line, duty wind likely, a sign said. I had the Roadrunner opened up in fourth and just humming. That big Hemi was worth every penny. The dips lifted us off the road, made your stomach jump. Off to our right, crows perched on the phone poles, waiting.

"Not much out here," Lamont said.

And just then I looked up and saw the cop car in the mirror, gaining on us. It wasn't a state trooper because they had Crown Vies, and this was an old Fury, probably one some other police force sold when they got their new ones. It was just luck —it was the only engine out there that had a chance against us. It was going to be two big Mopars going head to head. I'd take him, no question, even if I didn't know the road.

"Cop," I said.

Lamont didn't turn to look. "You're sure."

"No," I said, "it's Mr. Softee doing one-ten. Of course I'm sure."

"Does he have his lights on?"

"He just put them on."

"Pull over," Lamont said.

"What?" I said, and we started to argue. Now that I look back on it, I realize I should have fought him harder. But it's too late now.

You want to hear a weird one? In Switzerland they used to put you in a box and saw you in half. I don't know why.

I'd say he was around five-seven, a hundred and sixty. His wrists were thick like a drummer's. He had black hair parted on the left, or the right; I can't remember because most of the time I was watching him in the sideview mirror. His uniform was khaki, like the Marines. He must have had black shoes or boots, I can't remember. He had a gun, but he hadn't taken it out, he'd only unsnapped his holster like they teach you to do.

Lamont slipped the .45 from the glove compartment and hid it beneath his right leg.

I don't know how to describe Lloyd Red Deer's face. Round, kind of like a pumpkin. He had brown eyes and his cheeks had little pits in the skin. No mustache. Yellow teeth from smoking. He came up on my side and looked in, and I could tell he had no idea, that no one had told him about us. It was kind of Funny but sad too. He said, "Afternoon," to be polite.

"Ma'am," he said, "do you know how fast you were going?"

"No, sir," I said. Did I say he had gloves on? He did, white ones like a crossing guard. It was cute.

"I'm going to have to ask you for your license and registration," he said, and I turned to Lamont and said, "Honey?" like he'd get them for me.

102

Lamont shot him. He leaned forward and opened the glove compartment like he was looking for the papers, then he spun toward Lloyd Red Deer with the gun in his other hand. I shied back so it wouldn't hit me. For a second he didn't shoot and I thought he'd forgotten the safety. Then I realized it was his bad hand.

Lloyd Red Deer went for his gun, I don't know why. All he had to do was duck.

Lamont switched hands and shot him, and at the same time Lloyd Red Deer shot Lamont. It knocked Lamont's head against the window and the gun dropped on the floor.

His eyes were closed. I grabbed him by the shoulders. The bullet had made a hole in his shirt pocket and Lamont was gasping. The blood pulsed out. Natalie had ahold of him too. She was screaming so I couldn't think and I shoved her into the backseat. She must of sat on Gainey because he started wailing.

I ripped the bandage off Lamont's ribs and pressed it against his chest. Natalie wouldn't stop.

"Shut the heck up!" I said. I grabbed her by the hair and stuck her hand over the bandage. "Hold this!"

I tore Lamont's shirt off and leaned him forward. The bullet was still in there. I thumbed back his lids; his eyes were just whites. He made slurping sounds when he breathed. I didn't want to believe he was going to die so I pretended he was just knocked out from hitting the window. Slurp, he was going, slurp. Gainey was crying and my mind couldn't hold on to anything. "Okay," I kept saying, like I had a thought. We'd get him somewhere and let him rest and he'd be fine. "Right," I said. "Okay. Just keep holding that."

I checked on Lloyd Red Deer. He was lying on his side in the road, and I could see the outline of a wallet in his back pocket. I looked across the desert; there was no one coming, so I jumped out.

"What are you doing?" Natalie said.

"Just hold that against him," I said.

I got back in and got the car started.

"Where are we going?" Natalie sobbed.

"I don't know!" I said. "Stop asking me questions!"

He was definitely dead when we left him. Lamont shot him straight in the face with his .45. He had a hat, one of those Smokey the Bear deals with the strap in back, and it ended up across the road in a creosote bush.

I don't know anything about the shots to his body. They say they were from his own gun. Even if that wad true, they didn't kill him. There wasn't much left of his head.

That's another one I hate — getting, your head chopped off. Nobody does that anymore, at least not in this country. I remember those old movies with the guillotine, or the big guy with the bare chest and the black hood and the ax. They always give the prisoner a chance to say his last words, and while he's talking the king's pardon comes through, or his friends shoot an arrow right in the big guy's heart and a huge sword fight breaks out.

I don't think that's going to happen. Most of the people outside the gate tonight have signs like
Thank God It's Friday
and
Roast in Peace
. They don't know what's going on, they don't know me at all, they just want to cheer when the lights dim at 12:01.
Buckle Up, Marjorie
. It's a tradition, the Deathwatch. A lot of frat boys come out and drink beer and make a nuisance of themselves—a lot of nuts. And they're all here to see me. It, really. I read that at the last public execution in the U.S., twenty thousand people showed up.

Even inside of here there's a lot of commotion. When they did that Connie gal, they locked us down and showed us videos until three in the morning. Etta Mae said she hoped they'd show one with Brad Pitt in it. Lucinda said she was holding out for Wesley Snipes. I knew they were just trying to lighten things up for me. "Tom Cruise," I said. "It'll be my going-away present."

All the kidding is like the names they have for it, they're supposed to make it easier. The gas chamber's The Big Sleep or The Time Machine. Sitting in the chair is Riding the Lightning. Getting hanged is just The Drop. There's nothing special for lethal injection, just what they call any execution —After Midnight, like the old Clapton tune. After midnight, we gonna let it all hang out. All week I've been listening to people whistle it, the way it echoes off the concrete, down the long halls. It's hard to like a tune when it comes at you that way, but I do.

I stopped at the closest motel, which wasn't until Farmington. The Dan-Dee Colonial Motel. The sign was an oversized coach light. It was almost dark when we pulled in; next to the office a blue bug zapper crackled. Natalie went in with some of the money from Lloyd Red Deer and came back with a key to room 8, the furthest one from the office. I don't know if she used an alias. She walked over while I followed in the car.

The room had a harpoon on the wall and paintings of whaling ships and men in rain slickers in dinghies. The lamps above the beds came out of miniature ship's wheels. I took Gainey in first, then both of us helped carry Lamont. You couldn't tell if he was breathing and the blood was still coming. We laid him on one of the beds and locked the door.

I pulled the bandage off and watched the wound fill up and run over. I pressed it back down again.

"Get some ice," I said —I don't know why —and Natalie found the bucket and unlocked the door again.

I checked his wrist and couldn't find anything and checked his neck. I leaned my ear down to his lips and then his chest. There was nothing, so I did it again, holding my breath to listen better. No.

I got up and put the chain on the door and picked up Gainey and touched his hand to Lamont's cheek. I put him back in the car seat and laid down next to Lamont like we were going to sleep, then I rolled over and held him close. The blood was still hot. I thought if I held him long enough he'd open his eyes and say everything was fine.

Natalie knocked on the door like it was a secret.

"I love you," I said, and kissed him and held him tight against me.

Natalie knocked.

I kissed him a last time and ran my fingers over his teeth, his pretty fangs.

Natalie knocked again.

"Hold on!" I said, and got up and opened the door.

She looked at my front all covered with blood, and Gainey's jumper, and she knew. She put the bucket on the night table and knelt down beside him.

"Why did you lock the door?" she said. "Why did you lock the door?"

So yes, that part of her book is true.

It reminded me of my dad. This was on Kickingbird Circle. A bunch of friends were over. It was summer and we were in the backyard, running through the sprinklers. My mom was in her garden; she had her gloves on and her shears. My dad had these striped swim trunks with a string that tied in the front. He was chasing us through the spray, and when I looked back to see where he was, he was lying facedown on the ground. The water arced over him and came back my way.

"Get up," I said.

"Come on, Dad."

"Hey," I said. "Quit faking."

No, Lamont didn't have any last words.

Actually, the last thing he said was "Just do what I tell you, He said it to me, not her.

For the book, you could make "Not much out here" the last thing he says. Lamont would like that.

Wait a second.

Who is it?

Okay. Thanks, Janille.

It's Mr. Jefferies. This is probably it, since there's only twenty minutes left. Wish me luck.

It was him. They turned me down. Not enough new evidence for another trial.

What can you do, you know?

Yep.

So I guess I should finish this. For Gainey, and for Air. Jefferies.

I'd like to call my mom.

Mr. Jefferies was funny. He said, "I've got some good news and I've got some bad news."

And I said, "What's the good news?"

And he said, "I was just kidding, there is no good news."

Here's a good one: when the firing squad shoots you, blood flies out of your mouth.

That same night.

I was still flying but Natalie had to crash. We left Lamont where he was. I said I'd sleep on the floor and she was so tired that she believed me. I watched the TV without sound for a while —something dumb, you can make something up. Around midnight I went into the bathroom and did another three lines oil the edge of the sink. The light from the TV made the pattern of the wallpaper jump out like a test pattern. I looked in a mirror tor a little until I couldn't stand it. I went outside to the car and got the AS and a box of shells. It was cool out, and the neon turned my skin a pretty blue. I went back into the bathroom and loaded the gun and snorted another tour lines and washed my face. I took a big breath in the mirror.

"Okay," I said.

I took the pillow from Lamont's bed and walked over to Natalie. The lights were out and the TV was running all over the walls. I stood there and looked down at her for a while —at her hair and her arms, her perfect nails. I thought of our mornings with her toys and how I'd never felt so desirable, so alive inside my skin. I looked over at Lamont and thought about them being found together; I didn't want that.

Just then the show cut to a commercial and the screen went black, leaving me in the dark. When it came back, Natalie was looking straight at me.

I shoved the gun against her chest and fired. I completely forgot about the pillow; the sound made Gainey scream. Natalie rolled off the bed, knocking the bucket off the night table. The water splashed over her back. You could see the hole the bullet made where it came out. I didn't think I had to check.

"Liar," I said.

I threw the covers over her and started packing.

When I had everything together, I went out and unlocked the car. We were the only car in the lot. The road was empty. I went back in and wrapped Lamont in the bedspread and grabbed him under the arms and hauled him across the carpet and through the door and pushed him halfway into the backseat. I had to go around the other side and drag the rest of him in, and by then I was sweating.

I dragged Natalie out the same way and muscled her up and into the trunk. Then I got the bags and buckled Gainey's car seat in beside me. He was still squealing. I kept my lights off until I was a quarter mile or so down the road. When I flicked them on, the white lines shot off in front of me like a runway, but I knew I really wasn't going anywhere.

Remember
The Great Escape
, with Steve McQueen jumping the barbed wire on his motorcycle? Any of those movies where they tunnel out using spoons and homemade sleds you have to lie down on. They never know where to put the dirt. You're always rooting for them to get out, even when they're somewhere like Alcatraz. You don't really worry about what they did to get in because they're always innocent. But I was driving along then, through the desert, and I passed this sign that said, Hitchhikers may be escaped prisoners, and the first thing I did was lock Gainey's door.

I have no idea where it was, I just knew I had to get rid of her. It was dark, so I slowed down until I found some tire tracks going off into the desert. I turned on my high beams and the Roadrunner bumped over the ruts. The tracks went on for miles, but I figured they were Jeeps, and I didn't want to get the back end hung up on something. I watched the odometer. When I was five miles from the road, I stopped and killed the lights.

The thing about the desert is you can hear for miles. I stepped out into the darkness and I could hear a train clanking way off in the distance. I opened the trunk and the little bulb on the inside of the lid blinded me.

Natalie had shifted; her face rested on a yellow jug of antifreeze like it was a pillow. There was blood on the rug and the spare. I wrestled her out, but she hung up on the lip. Her shirt was caught in the lock. I had to let go and it ripped and she rolled into my legs and almost knocked me over. I closed the lid so no one would see us. I dragged her off the road a ways, thinking I'd throw some sand over her, but it was dirt and hurt my fingers.

So the whole buried-alive thing is a joke. Left for dead I can buy, even if it was only one shot, but calling it a miracle makes me angry. It's a miracle I didn't try to kill her before that for what she did to me.

And then the whole thing gets stupid because I try to do a three-point turn and get stuck and when I finally rock myself out, I follow the wrong tracks and get lost. Cattle are wandering through my headlights. This could be funny or sad or me just getting what I deserve. It's your choice.